Judge — June 1935 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ke, / p! AR Editor: If you don't get this let me know immediately. It’s being written in a 1910 Ford on the backs of old racetrack betting tickets. When it’s finished I'm getting it off to you by hitch- hiker, or, as Fred Allen says, digit express. You see I've been to Agua Caliente which leaves me without postage money and besides, a hitchhiker with two broken thumbs could make better speed than my old Liz. I suppose I shouldn't say that about dear old Liz for after all she’s going to have to get me back home. She may be nothing but an old Ford that'll never grow up to be a Lincoln, but then who of us will? “Pm here on missionary work—I wish to speak to your chief.” 16 HIGH I suppose you want to know: Why Caliente, why Liz, wi this nonsense? Well, my fine feathered friend, here is why: After living for six straight weeks in a three-foot spot i: front of the bar at what Louella Parsons calls Hollywe smart Club Trocadero, I found myself dispossessed one morr The owners figured if I didn’t move I'd take root and bec a fountain spouting pure rye with mint leaves growing over me. Paying my bill I moved immediately to the Clover Club which is above Sunset Blvd, and stayed there until movi day came round again, This time the rent and the drinks ca to within $37.50 of all the money I had in the world. . So what to do? I remembered you were expecting me hon any moment three months ago and I knew how badly you neede me in the East what with new night spots being opened ne cocktails being invented, and no practical scientist like mys around to ruin his life and digestion in nob’ sacrifice to testing them out so that others cou! go out and do likewise. Then I got a happy inspiration: why n¢ dash down to Agua Caliente and in a half doze successive passes make my thirty-seven grow into a sum with which I could buy bedieselled yot and sail back to a swank an: age outside the River House, East River, No Yawk? So singing “I'm the Man Who Broke t! Bank at Monte Carlo,” I climbed aboard 8-lunged roadster with the heated rumble. overheated radio, and the ten unpaid it ments and headed south. I bowled merrily o of Hollywood thru the weeds toward Lor Beach, and Einsteinian were my thoughts. riving at Caliente I would waste no time w! ever. I would have three quick old-fashio: skip to the dice table, lay thirty smackers ¢ the line, roll seven sevens in a row; take th comicbooks.com